Attila (38 page)

From Constantius' tone, he might have been suggesting a spot of hare-hunting on his family's estate in Provincia, thought Aetius with wry amusement. He liked this dashing young man, who had turned up out of the blue one day at Aetius' camp, with half a dozen tough-looking
bucellarii
in tow. In a take-itor-leave-it way, he had offered his services, and Aetius had taken him on for a trial period, as a tribune with an acting commission, pending confirmation by the Consistory. Apart from hinting that he was
persona non grata
in his home district (because of a scandal involving the seduction of a local senator's wife), Constantius divulged nothing of his background, beyond stating the obvious: that he was from a wealthy family of land-owning
aristocrats. Beneath the light-hearted insouciance, there was, Aetius suspected, a tough and self-contained young man, worldly-wise beyond his years. A superb horseman and natural leader, whom the men seemed to take to immediately, Constantius, along with his hard-riding retinue, had soon proved useful.

With fast-moving light cavalry units of the field army, Aetius was endeavouring to discover what the Franks were up to. Officially federates, under King Chlodio they had recently broken out of their assigned territory along the lower Rhenus, and were reported to be pushing west through the province of the Second Belgica, towards the Phrudis. After his scouts had told Aetius that they'd sighted a large party of Franks encamped by the hamlet of Vicus Helena near Nemetacum,
²
Constantius had volunteered to carry out a solo spying mission on the band in question. Acting alone, he argued, he would be able to get close to the Franks and observe their dispositions in detail.

He had been as good as his word.

‘Strength?' enquired Aetius.

‘Hard to be exact – their tents and shelters are spread over a wide area. Between five and ten thousand, I'd say.'

‘Distance?'

‘Not much over twenty miles. Flat water-meadows all the way – An easy three hours' ride.'

‘Is it a war-party?'

‘That wasn't my impression, sir. Seemed more like a festive outing, like a picnic on a grand scale.'

‘A picnic! Come, Constantius.'

‘No, seriously, sir, it looked as if they're preparing a big celebration. They're dressed up in their best outfits; there are several pavilion tents, and the place is crawling with cooks and scullions. And' – Constantius paused, then went on slowly – ‘this may be significant. There's one really big, brightly coloured pavilion, flying a flag.'

‘Chlodio?'

Constantius shrugged and smiled. ‘Well, it just might be we're in luck, sir.'

‘Then what are we waiting for? Get yourself a fresh horse; I'll pass the order for the
bucinator
to sound “Saddle up”.'

Theudebert was happy. With a full heart, he looked round the long trestle table at his fellow Franks: resplendent in their best and brightest tunics, close-fitting like their trousers; some wearing gold arm-rings or neck-torques, gifts from King Chlodio for loyal service or outstanding courage. He himself, in recognition of his years and many valorous deeds when of fighting age, was seated only three places from the King's right hand. The old days were coming back, he thought, his eyes misting with nostalgia as his mind drifted back nearly sixty years to when he was a young warrior.

They were good days, days of fighting and feasting, of hunting and adventure. In his first battle – against the Alamanni, when he was sixteen – he had possessed only a shield and spear. That day, he had killed his first man and taken his fine
Spangenhelm
, complete with cheek-pieces and ring-mail neck-guard. Then, as the years passed and his fame and prowess as a warrior grew, he had acquired other gear: a
francisca
or throwing-axe, a mail shirt, a horse, a lance, and, best of all, a pattern-welded sword of finest iron edged with steel, the gift of King Marcomir.

Then Stilicho, the Vandal who led Rome's armies, had come down the Rhenus and wooed the Franks with fair words, persuading them to become allies,
foederati
of Rome, in exchange for a strip of land on the Roman side of the river. Land which the Franks could have taken anyway, so weak had Rome become, the old warrior thought in disgust. And much good had taking the
foedus
done his people. True to their promise, the Franks had fought valiantly but in vain, to stem the flood of Vandals, Suevi, and Burgundians that had poured across the frozen Rhenus and into Gaul. They had lost many fine warriors, but, what was worse, were then expected, under the terms of the
foedus
, to settle down and till the soil as peaceful farmers, a shameful thing for proud warriors, an occupation fit only for women and weaklings.

But now, King Chlodio, like a true Frank, had gathered around him a mighty
comitatus
, a sworn following of adventurous young men, and had led his people out of their assigned territory in the Second Germania, and into Roman Gaul. Ah, the glorious days of fighting and plunder that had followed! Swords which had grown
rusty in their scabbards had drunk blood again. Tornacum and Cambracum
³
had fallen to their warriors, yielding a rich harvest of gold and silver vessels, glass bowls, hoards of
solidi
. . . He had been too old to fight himself, of course, but he had shared in the glory of his sons, who had presented him with jewelled cups, and – his most prized possession – a wonderful drinking-horn of clearest glass.

To celebrate his victories and the marriage of his son, the king was holding this splendid feast, the tables spread in the shelter of a hill, along the banks of a pleasant stream. A young scullion offered Theudebert wine; he sent the lad for ale to fill his drinking-horn. Wine was for women and Romans, he thought scornfully, as he reached to carve himself a slice of venison from the haunch further down the table. Ale was the only fit drink for a warrior.

Suddenly, a mass of horsemen in Roman helmets appeared as if from nowhere and swept along the rows of tables, overturning them and slashing at the guests. With their weapons put aside out of respect for the occasion, the Franks fought back bravely with anything to hand – knives, struts wrenched from trestles, even jugs and trenchers. Grabbing a spit, old Theudebert hurled it like a lance at a charging cavalryman, saw the wicked point pierce the soldier's eye and emerge from the back of his skull, between the helmet rim and the lacings of the neck-guard. As the man toppled from the saddle, another horseman cut at the Frank; the
spatha
bit deep into Theudebert's neck, severing the carotid artery, which spouted blood in scarlet jets. In his last moments of consciousness, the old man's thin veneer of Christianity, scarcely two generations deep, slipped away. This day I shall feast with fellow warriors in Valhalla, he thought joyfully, for I will have died in battle.

The fight was soon over. To avoid further slaughter of his
comitatus
, who would fight to the death to defend their liege lord, King Chlodio raised his hands in surrender, calling on his men to do the same.

Helmet under arm, Aetius stepped forward and addressed the king. ‘In view of your people's record of loyal service to Rome, Chlodio, I am prepared – this once – to offer you the
foedus
a second time. Will you take it?'

Chlodio, a tall, impressive figure with long fair hair, dressed
in white tunic and hose with a green cloak, looked the general up and down with an air of calm insolence. ‘Your terms, Roman?'

Aetius shook his head in reluctant admiration of the Frank's coolness. He recalled that in virtually identical circumstances the first Valentinian had burst a blood-vessel and died. ‘You're hardly in a position to bargain, Chlodio,' he answered mildly, ‘as I think you realize. My terms are these. Withdraw all your people beyond the Scaldis.
⁴
That river, together with the Mosa,
⁵
will henceforth be the boundary between the Franks and the Romans. Should any Frank be found without authorization west of that line, or south of Arduenna Silva,
⁶
he will be put to death on sight. Also, you must swear never again to take up arms against the Romans, and to fight for Rome when called upon. Do you so swear?'

Chlodio inclined his head slightly. ‘I do,' he declared, in tones which suggested he was conferring a favour on the victors.

‘In that case, you may remove your dead. But everything else remains on the battlefield, as legitimate spoils of war. As from the first hour tomorrow, we grant you two days to remove yourselves to your homeland.'

‘Congratulations, sir. A splendid victory,' said Constantius to Aetius, as the last of the Frankish wagons rolled away to the east.

‘A few more victories like that, and we'll hardly be able to take the field,' said Aetius ruefully. ‘Three hundred men dead. We can't afford that sort of loss.'

‘But the Franks lost thousands. Surely—'

‘The Franks can soon make up their numbers; we can't.' A note of quiet desperation had crept into the general's voice. ‘Theirs is a warrior nation. All their young men are potential soldiers, whereas for us it's almost impossible to find fresh recruits. God knows how much longer we can pay or equip our troops, let alone feed them. The treasury in Ravenna's bankrupt – really bankrupt this time. Fitting out the recent abortive African expedition has emptied the coffers.'

‘As bad as that, sir?' murmured Constantius sympathetically. ‘I hadn't realized. Still, the situation in Gaul's well under control.
The Burgundians and Visigoths, and now the Franks, have been taught a lesson and kept within bounds. Gaul's still Roman.'

‘But for how long? If the federates were to break out again . . . Rome is like a man crossing a frozen lake in spring. At any moment the ice may shatter and the man drown. If only we still had the Huns to help us.'

‘Can't they be persuaded?'

Aetius shook his head. ‘I scarcely think so,' he replied sombrely. Then the germ of an idea flashed into his mind. Perhaps, just perhaps . . . The young man beside him could charm the birds off the trees. If anyone could succeed in talking Attila round, Constantius could.

A
centenarius
who had been supervising the burial detail, approached and saluted respectfully. ‘All ready, sir.'

‘Come, Constantius. We must commend their souls to God.' As the two officers turned to leave the battlefield, Aetius stooped and picked up something from the ground, a drinking-horn, beautifully fashioned from glass. Miraculously, it had not broken. He handed it to the young tribune. ‘I wonder whose it was,' he mused. ‘Keep it as a souvenir, my friend, a memento of your first battle.'

Praetorium of the Master of Soldiers, Ravenna, Province of Flaminia and Picenum, Diocese of Italia [Titus wrote in his journal], in the consulships of Flavius Theodosius, Augustus (his eighteenth), and of Albinus, Ides IV Aug.
⁷

With Gaul quiet again after the Frankish scare, Aetius has returned to Italy, leaving Avitus – now Prefect of Gaul – to keep an eye on the two Gallic dioceses. Aetius feels his presence is needed in Ravenna, where he can more easily watch the situation in Africa. With the expedition for its recovery postponed, Gaiseric is flexing his muscles once more; the only barbarian with a fleet (of captured Roman vessels), he has seized the Baleares and Sardinia, established a beachhead in Sicilia, and is now threatening Italia itself.

Money to maintain the army is now the crying need, but all sources are exhausted. So desperate has the government become that it has this year invented a new tax on trade, the
siliquaticum
, a payment of one twenty-fourth on sales.
Hoping to make up the shortfall of recruits by attempting to revive his alliance with Attila, the Patrician has sent a young tribune, one Constantius, to the King, to make overtures on his behalf. I must admit to having reservations. Constantius has admirable qualities: he is brave and resourceful, as he proved at the Battle of Vicus Helena against the Franks; he has tact, charm, self-confidence by the bucketload, and is from a good family, and therefore able to mix easily with the great – all attributes which make him (in theory) an excellent choice for an ambassador.

So why do I have doubts? I just have a feeling that, for all his charm, Constantius will always put his own interests above other priorities. In view of the importance of his undertaking (which could, it is no exaggeration to say, decide the survival of the West), I voiced my fears to Aetius. But he laughed them off good-naturedly. I believe he thinks I'm jealous of Constantius – in case his mission to Attila succeeds where mine failed, I suppose. Well, we can only wait and see what transpires.

 

¹
The Somme.

²
Arras.

³
Tournai and Cambrai.

⁴
The Scheldt.

⁵
The Meuse.

⁶
The Ardennes.

⁷
10 August 444.

A man who is base at home will not acquit himself with honour as an ambassador abroad

Aeschines,
Ctesiphontem
, 337
BC

Most unusually for him, Constantius was nervous. As he donned his best dalmatic for the interview with Attila, he began to regret having stolen the expensive gifts intended for the King. But the opportunity to raise sufficient cash to pay off his gambling debts, and come to an accommodation with the senator whose wife he had seduced, had been just too tempting – even if the amount paid by the Syrian moneylender in Arelate was but a fraction of the real value of the goods. Still, he could now return to his home and hold up his head again among his family and peers. And he had kept back one or two of the less valuable items, such as the glass drinking-horn Aetius had found on the battlefield of Vicus Helena. Worthless trinkets like that would probably impress a savage like Attila far more than an exquisitely patterned silver dish – or so he had managed to convince himself. Now, with the meeting imminent, he was less certain.